Determination
by Never-Rebel
Summary: Pan has returned from her journey through space, unknowingly followed. Her Saiyajin blood drives her now to try and obtain what she cannot. With the training of Piccolo, a man she despises, can Pan become a Super Saiyajin?
1. Training

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Title – Determination

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Characters – Pan, Piccolo

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Summary – Pan has returned from a year long journey through space, feeling now alone and forgotten. Her Saiyajin blood drives her to try and obtain what is unobtainable for her. With the training of Piccolo, a man she despises, can Pan become a Super Saiyajin? Entirely Pan's POV.

Chapter One

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Training

I think I hate my life.

Ever since I returned from space my parents had been smothering me. They were always prodding me to tell them of my adventures: the aliens I had seen, the planets we had gone to. They asked me about the little scrapes on my arm, insignificant things that I had gotten while training in the woods years before that they had never taken the time to notice. I didn't show them the real scars I had gotten. The battle scars, while they hurt then, I was proud to have. I don't know why I didn't show them – I just didn't. The raw pink circle below my left breast from an energy blast, the thick white line that ran diagonal from my shoulder to mid-back; my right ear was missing its tip because of a particularly vicious, metal-clawed alien. I made sure either my bandana or my hair hid that at all times – My parents would freak if they knew I was missing a part of a body part.

I shouted at them when I had finally had enough of their pestering. If I wanted to tell them what happened, then I would; but I didn't want to. I told them to stop bothering me and left. They yelled when I slammed the door and I thought they might follow after me – they didn't, which I was grateful for. I wanted them to leave me be.

It was nice to fly through familiar territory. Completely unchanged, the area was just how I remembered it. I had expected it to be changes, to see something new. I saw nothing exciting. Dull treetops were the only things that graced my vision. I was comfortable in an area I knew well, I was able to ease back into living as I had done for the thirteen years before my trip, but something was wrong with that. 

The air was different here; it was less fresh and more polluted. I had gotten used to the various airs of other planets, all of which were more pure. Those planets had no air cars or factories to pollute the air they inhaled. I wonder if they were breathing the oxygen, or if some needed the nitrogen, carbon-oxide, or some other gas in the air.

A week had gone by and I was already restless. I missed the traveling, the fighting. I knew it was something that I would not easily forget about. Different worlds, dangerous battles, exciting travels and unpredictable aliens – I loved it. If I had the opportunity to take a ship and leave this planet for space travel, for fighting, I would take it without hesitation.

My parents had re-enrolled me in school. It was a waste. School was in session and I had yet to attend a lesson, but I was never going to need to know about the parts of speech or how to pick apart a book – Learning to fight is all I really cared about. I dreamt of being able to fight like mom and dad, like Vegeta, Trunks and Grandpa Goku. 

Grandpa Goku had promised to teach me. He was the only one who was willing to take me on as a pupil, no one else offered. Even Grandpa Hercule refused to train me, which I think was really mom's doing. Goku had always been good to me, always kind and full of energy. Until he abandoned me. He left with Shenlong, that great ugly dragon, to go and protect its world. I know he meant well, but I was still hurt. He had forgotten about me; he had broken his promise to me. Had he made any other promise, _anything!_, I would have understood and forgiven him. But this was my training! The thing that meant the most to me, that was more important than traveling the universe. Gone. The chance to get stronger and improve was all gone because Goku was a helpful, forgetful man.

I wouldn't feel so negative towards him if I could just go on training myself as I always had. I had nothing left to teach myself. Without instructions I could learn nothing more. Without a sparring partner I would never get stronger, faster or better. My power was at a standstill and my abilities were limited. So far away from where I desired to be.

Dad said that since I was only a quarter Saiyajin that I would never be able to go Super. When I asked Goku he said I could with enough training. I took Goku's answer to heart - I disregarded Gohan and Trunks' doubt, and put all of my trust in what Goku had told me. I was determined to prove them wrong, to show them that I was strong enough. That I could be just as strong as Trunks and Goten, who didn't even train and were still stronger than me!

The mass of trees cut off, leaving a vast expanse of grassy field, which extended farther into a rocky land littered with dunes and raised elevations. I descended toward the lowest level of ground and began my routine of stretches. When finished, I moved on to my usual warm-ups: punches, basic kicks, speed and agility exercises. I needed to work on my speed and reflexes, the proof of that was my tip-less ear. My form needed some work too, as it was easy to spar with an invisible opponent. A real person was actually capable of hitting back and dealing unpredictable, painful blows. I resembled a tyrannosaur trying to swim in water according to Trunks.

I was over my crush on him. On Trunks. He had been sweet and considerate in the beginning, and always gorgeous, but then he got the idea that I required constant protection like a toddler. All because of one little incident where I had needed saving. It was one when of those bastards sliced me with their claws, they had caught me off guard and my reflexes weren't fast enough. Trunks ended up saving me, or thinking he had saved me because, although I was bleeding steadily, I could have still fought. I remember he kept on interfering with my battles until I finally decked him once after a battle for it. He looked confused and openly expressed it, but he was too dense to realize why I had done it and I was too angry to offer him a reason. 

I realize I had been too caught up in my dreams to think he would return my affections. It was so simple to let him go that I knew I had just been pining over someone I would never have. 

Although I learned that my fighting technique needed improvement in many aspects – There was one thing I was good at. Energy blasts. Energy balls - Anything that involved bringing energy out of my hands and using it as a destructive force. It was so simple to do now that I wanted to try extracting it from elsewhere: mouth, eyes, chest, stomach, toes. Something that not even Goku could do. I really wanted to be better than him in some prospect since he _forgot_ that he promised to train me, just to spite him.

I wasted part of my afternoon running laps around a course imagined around several dunes, going at my fastest. I was exhausted with that quickly and settled on trying to quicken my physical attacks.

As the day progressed, I was reminded of how hot summers were. I knew I would have very red skin and that tomorrow it would burn, yet I continued training. However, I had abandoned my speed training and took up shade underneath a stretch of plateau. I sat, seeking relaxation and concentration.

My mind willed my energy outward. It automatically tried to get out through my hands and I forced it to stay in. I tried to imagine it going back through my arms and upwards, towards my mouth, trying to push it in that direction. The energy only went to my hands and I withheld it until it made my limbs tingle with a numbing sensation, which I finally released and watched fizzle. Without instructions, I had no idea what to do. I was entirely clueless.

After many failed attempts, none cooperating with my efforts or giving me an idea as to how to direct my energy _anywhere_ other than my hands, I ended my exercise exasperatedly.

Since I had gotten such a late start, the sun was already setting behind the treetops and the air was cooling. I stood, not yet ready to go home, but parched and famished. I flew off towards the forest, knowing that there was a waterfall somewhere that I would drink at rather than return home for it. Usually I brought my own jug of water for convenience, so I had never really needed to know exactly where the waterfall was. I just flew over it, noticing it absently, when I was flying laps over the area. Mentally, I went over the route I always took, trying to imagine as I scoured the air when I concluded that I was going to have to follow it around until I spotted it.

The sun had set by the time I found the waterfall. Before I had never noticed how big this territory was. I knelt at the edge of the steam that branched from the fall, looked at my sand and clay-sodden hands, and dipped them into the water. I scrubbed away the dirt thoroughly before I cupped some water in my hands to drink. It tasted better than the purified water that had been on the ship and better than the well water at home.

I took off my headband and dunked my head under the water, just because I knew it would feel good since I was hot and sweaty from my activities. The odor I was giving off was unpleasant, but since it was my own, I could cope. 

I lifted my head out of the water, flipping my hair back out of my eyes. I was rubbing the water from my eyes when I felt something; a surge of energy behind me, springing from nothingness. Surprised, I turned, still on my knees, a ball of energy within my fist.

When I saw the man behind me, my energy ball grew. Light was escaping through my fingers, but was not bright enough to illuminate his features. My father knew this man, but I did not. His name was Piccolo and, honestly, he made me uneasy. I never knew why he was there when, in the times I had seen him, he had been living with Dende on the Lookout. I did, though, swallow my shock and hesitation and found myself very angry because he had crept up on me and _I_ _didn't know him_. 

"What do you want?" I spat vehemently.

I wanted him to know I had no hear of him. Piccolo was big and certainly looked nasty, but I found myself looking to where I imagined his eyes were in the darkness, to look him in the eyes and I prove I wasn't scared of him. I did feel very uncomfortable, feeling his dark eyes glaring intently at me. I did not know what his intentions were and that only added to my discomfort.

His arms, even in the nighttime dark, I could see were folded in an intimidating manner. I was not intimidated.

"Put that away."

He meant my energy blast, since that was the only thing I had. I wasn't going to give up my only defense in this position.

"Make me!" I said, loudly.

"You really don't want me to, brat. Now get rid of it," he said with an eerie calm. 

Piccolo's demand only gave me more incentive to keep the energy in my hand, even as it become more difficult to hold onto.

"I won't hurt you, if that's what you think."

"Right." I had no reason to believe him.

"I won't hurt you out of respect for your father," he clarified, "but I will drag you home if I have to."

I could tell he was getting annoyed. I was as well. 

I stood up and let go of the energy in my hand gratefully, my forehead moist with the beginnings of sweat from the effort. Without direction or momentum, the energy simply withered into nothing. The stars offered little light and I was temporarily unable to see as my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

I was irked.

"Just try and drag me home, freak!"

I crossed my arms and tilted my chin up defiantly. The silence that followed was unexpected and allowed my anger to rise; seething and focused solely on Piccolo.

"How did Gohan end up with a brat like you? You selfish little bitch, you don't care about anyone but yourself," he hissed accusingly.

I stared, gaping at him, taken aback by his accusation. He didn't know me. How dare he try to judge me!

"You don't know anything about me! You have no right to insult me when you don't even know me! What _I_ want to know is how my dad ended up with a friend like you," I screamed.

What had Grandma ChiChi always referred to Piccolo as?

"You demon," I rampaged on, "go back to Hell where you came from."

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I don't want to be here! I'm only here because I wanted Goku to train me like he promised. I just want to go back into space and I don't want to come back!

My voice screamed in my head, clear and powerful, but I said none of it aloud. I was not about to scream my personal problems at a stranger. Of all the things I wanted, Piccolo's pity was not on that list. My sight was blurry suddenly and I blinked rapidly to clear my vision.

I wondered why I was still standing there. I didn't want to hear Piccolo's response. I was upset, drained of my anger; I flew off just to get away. I wiped unshed tears from my eyes, but not before Piccolo appeared in front of me. I could see him now. He was furious – his fangs were bared, his eyes were wide with rage and he had an energy ball ready to throw.

"I should make you eat this," he growled.

Instantly I regretted getting this man angry.

"But," Piccolo continued, "I'm going to train you first. I don't want a weak victim."

Again, I stared agape. I was going to tell him to shove it. That I wasn't weak. That I didn't need his training. Didn't want it. But I did want training, any kind of training. Just not any from him.

"I'm not weak," I said. 

I tried to sound imposing. I tried to defy him. I wanted to be trained, but not by this man. I despised him. I loathed him.

"Is that so?"

Piccolo hurled his ball of energy at me. I had enough time to dodge it; impulse tried to make me move out of the way, but I now had something to prove. I shoved my own energy out, creating a shield that I hoped was strong enough to protect me and covered my face with my arms. I had no idea how powerful his energy would be and I was mildly surprised when I felt the heat go around me, hot but harmless.

I lowered my arms, smirking, but he had disappeared. I felt him behind me too late to react and he clobbered me in the neck. It hurt. 

I was ready to shoot him with an energy blast, but Piccolo drove a knee into my chest before I even got the energy out. He elbowed me in the spine and I was helpless to stop my plummet to the ground. I put a hasty shield and prepared for the painful, ground-breaking impact.

When I opened my eyes, he was standing over me. His arms were folded over his chest, he was engulfed by shadows and looked exactly as he had earlier. It was as if there had been no skirmish at all.

"I-" I coughed, lacking oxygen in my lungs. I gasped desperately, trying to be discreet, for air several times before my lungs were willing to accept it.

"You won't train me."

"You don't have a choice, brat."

I didn't want to be trained by him, by Piccolo. I _hated_ him.

*****

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Author's Notes – I would like to thank Ly for beta-reading this for me! XD

Also, I would like to clarify something so as not to confuse readers too much. This is written _entirely_ from Pan's point of view, which means she will not always be perceptive or know exactly what the other's motivation is. Her outlooks will be more biased, seen through her eyes only. (She's a proud, stubborn brat, ain't she?)

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Planned Update – Trying to give myself a time frame with this, I shall try to have the next chapter posted 12/13/02. Unless something goes horribly wrong, that is the planned date. *waves cheerily and points erratically at the review button*


	2. Readjusting

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Title – Determination

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Author – Toreina-Mei (Jenna)

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Disclaimer – (forgotten in the first chapter ^_^;;) I own… This story and the idea. Cookies to me. I don't own Dragon Ball Z or GT. *turns nose up at GT series and mumbles to self 'if it wasn't for Pan…'* Read on and enjoy! XD

Chapter Two

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Readjusting

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Just as he claimed he would do, Piccolo had slung me over his shoulder and carried me home. Had I not been fatigued from the day's activities I would have put up more of a fight, but I had enough fight in me to beat on his back and kick my feet wildly and viciously. I elbowed him in the back of the head, on accident, and was proud to have done so. Piccolo promptly put me down and struck me unconscious.

It was morning now, rays of sunlight irritating my eyes. I got out of bed, still in my filthy, sweaty clothes. My skin was grimy and so I stripped, got into the shower and stayed in there for a long while. I washed my hair thoroughly and scrubbed my body clean, taking as much time as I possible could. Eventually I just stood in the spray of hot water.

I was not eager to get out because I would then have to face the tempers of my parents. I knew I couldn't avoid it, nor the long, loud lecture I was sure to receive, but I could postpone it. Which is what I did until my stomach growled. I was hungry and it demanded breakfast. With great reluctance, outweighed by my appetite, as I had not eaten dinner last night, I got out of the shower, dressed and went to the kitchen. 

Mom and dad sat at the table, various breakfast foods stacked in a miniature mountain. There was no plate set out for me, which was unusual, so I went to the cupboard to retrieve one and returned to the table, piling food onto my plate. I ignored my parents entirely as I ate.

"Hurry up, Pan, or you're going to be late," said dad.

"I'm not going to school," I said, not bothering to swallow my food. 

"I meant for your training with Piccolo."

I let the gob of chewed food in my mouth fall onto my plate with a disgusting slap. I looked up at my father, meeting his gaze. 

"You _aren't_ serious, papa."

"I thought you wanted training," mom said. 

"Not from him!" I exploded, slamming my palms on the table as I stood. My plate bounced and a few stray morsels rolled off, to which I paid no mind.

"Grandma told me about him. He's a _demon_! He stole you and nearly killed you, papa. I don't want to train with that monster. I want to--"

"He is not a monster. Or a demon. Piccolo might not be the strongest, but he _is_ the best teacher," dad said forcefully.

Somehow I managed to strike a nerve. Dad had one of his hands on the table balled into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He was defending his childhood kidnapper-turned-friend and the man that Grandma ChiChi had nothing positive to say about. It made no sense to me. 

"Yes, he is harsh and honestly, Pan, I think you deserve it. Consider it your punishment for all the worrying you have put your mother and I through."

"Why won't you train me?" I asked my dad, then turned to my mother and repeated the question.

"Pan, you will accept your punishment and you will train with Piccolo."

I clenched my jaw, glaring at my father with all the defiance and abhorrence I could muster. He was set firm in his decision and I was outraged by it, but I could do nothing. I plopped back down into my seat, grabbed my fork, stabbed a sausage and shoved it in my mouth. The food no longer had any taste and the table had become quiet, save for the sound of my fork jabbing the plate. 

I stood up, knocking my chair backward to the ground. I was about to leave when my dad called me back to pick it up – I did so begrudgingly. Then I left, shooting off towards the forest. I didn't know where I was supposed to meet Piccolo and was not about to go back and ask. Thus I relied on my energy-sensing ability, touching upon many animals before I reached a considerably large energy. Piccolo didn't feel so impressive now that I was sensing him from afar, flying to where I felt him. I was stronger than him! And last night he had only gotten the upper hand with me because I had been spent.

Piccolo was at the waterfall, hovering above the water. I landed roughly, sneering at the indentation in the ground that my body had made in our scuffle last night. I waited for Piccolo to acknowledge my presence, but he didn't seem to know I was there.

"Hey, demon!" I called nastily.

There was not even a twitch in response.

"You made my dad let you train me, didn't you! Look, you might be able to kidnap him and try to make him an asshole like you, but you can't do that with me!" I remembered what he had told me last night and so, as an afterthought, I added, "_You're_ the weak one!" 

Again, I received no response. I was irritated with having to be here and already I had made myself angry with him. 

My eyes widened, idiotically amazed, as his power level increased. I should have considered that he had been keeping it suppressed and so I felt dumb for thinking he was _that_ weak. I went back to my original theory from last night, that he _was_ stronger than I was, and if he were to show it I would get pissed.

"Brat, first of all, keep that big mouth of yours shut."

"Stop calling me a brat," I said, the words losing much of their impact because he was so much taller then myself.

"Shut up," he reiterated in a much ruder manner, "I offered to train you, so _don't_ be ungrateful."

"I don't want your training," I said.

"Throw a punch at me."

That was something I had not expected, but I was only too delighted to oblige. His height posed little problem – I jumped, pulled my fist back, and threw all of my strength into hitting him in the face. Piccolo swatted my arm away, instantly infuriating me. I hovered and tried to punch him with my other hand. He caught me by the wrist and lifted me, my shoulder protesting the strain, to his eye level. His curled upper lip, crinkled nose and drawn-down brows conveyed disgust. 

"You're slow, brat."

I had already admitted that to myself, but it was something I took great offense to when said by him. 

"I am not!" I protested hotly. 

Piccolo released me unceremoniously and backhanded me. My head turned to the side, my cheek stinging, before I whipped it back to stare, wide-eyed and disbelieving, at him. He scowled at me. 

I lunged, tossing punches erratically. I was focused on hitting him, on hurting him, even as he took to the sky. Each punch I threw was blocked or avoided and yet I still persevered, thinking that I could hit him. Piccolo dodged another attack and hit me with his fist, directly between the eyes. Water automatically sprung into my eyes as I fell backward from the force. I righted myself, holding my nose and trying to hide the tears that had responsively sprung to my eyes because I was embarrassed of them.

There was no time to clear my hazed vision as Piccolo continued his assault. I tried to escape from his onslaught, but he was just too fast. I had to endure this punishment, unable to get away or avoid him. 

When it had all finally ended, I was sprawled on the ground. Blood, now caked over, had trickled from my nose and my bottom lip was split; bruises colored my face, ribs and knees; and I was still alive and still in tact. I was also sore and beaten, too tired to return home. Piccolo had returned to his spot above the waterfall, hovering with crossed legs. 

Damn him.

Eventually, I fell asleep. 

*****

A week passed by painfully. I was getting no where with this _supposed_ training. Each day I would wake to spar with Piccolo, for hours trying to land a punch on him. Then he would call a break for lunch, him drinking water and meditating while I had to catch my own food and cook it. I was more often than not eating an overdone, burnt meal. 

In addition, after my first training outfit had been destroyed, I was now wearing the fifth gi crafted by Piccolo. He once put me in an outfit identical to his – I threw a fit, not wanting to be or look like him at all. I had to wear it, though, until it had been shredded in battle. After that he made me orange gi's. I didn't mind that it had his symbol on the back because I couldn't see it.

I had to bathe in the stream and was _very_ uncomfortable about doing so naked. My outfit had no undergarments included except for built-in shorts that were meant to be underwear, so it wasn't possible for me to bathe in bra and underwear. I made sure Piccolo was no where in sight and, after the first time, it became an easier task.

One afternoon I had been so furious with Piccolo that I threw a piece of raw dinosaur at him while he was meditating – It was incinerated with two, thin energy beams from the eyes. I learned that, not only was he always alert, but that he could make his energy come out somewhere that wasn't his hands. I hated him even more.

After lunch came the injurious part. Piccolo launched his own assault and I was forced to remain on the defensive. I avoided few of his kicks and less of his punches and by sunset, I was a pathetic sight. 

My body protested these daily excursions. It hasn't had a chance to heal in days, nor has it had a proper, comfortable rest since I have been sleeping on a hard ground. I was not at full strength – I was actually in pain, a lot of it. Yet, somehow, I still had not sustained any incredibly horrible injuries.

As I sat alone in the quiet of night, I relied on my thoughts to keep me company. I thought for a long while, mostly about how much I despised Piccolo, but from my thinking, I realized that he had been taking it easy on me. He wasn't using his full power with me, which is how I was still even alive. He was unbelievably cruel, heartless and infuriating. I needed to recooperate, to let my muscles rest, my cuts heal and my bruises fade. Piccolo would never care, though, and I would never show him any weakness. He just kept pushing me harder, making me keep up with him.

Another week passed by before I was again seated by the gentle stream of water, the rumbling of cascading water far in the background, with my back leaning against a solid, straight up wall of rock. It was dark, but still early in the evening when I began to think. I realized that the training I was doing with Piccolo, fighting and sparring, was what I had been yearning for. Even if he was always yelling at me, demanding that I anticipate his attacks. I tried to guess them, but I always relied on my reflexes because I didn't know how to know what Piccolo was going to do.

By now I hated this man wholly, for his uncaring attitude and nature, but I tolerated him. We argued often, I insulted him with nasty names, and yet I respected him for the fact that he could train me in a way that my family simply could not. My hatred outclassed my respect for him by far. 

I had been able to rest today. Piccolo didn't awake me at dawn today, but my body, used to arising then, woke up anyway. I waited for him to come by and try to kick me awake and he never did. He left me alone and I was confused as to why, but was not moronic enough to ask. By afternoon I felt restless, wanting to get up and move around as I had gotten accustomed to do doing, however reasoned that I would be doing that tomorrow. I needed to relax and heal minor wounds, wounds that were accumulating into a larger, scattered pain. I was tired anyway, and so I slept the entire day. 

Whenever I woke, which was roughly at hour intervals, I was ready to snap at Piccolo. I swore he was staring at me and I wanted him to stop, knowing that he was mocking me with a scornful look, as if I were weak, but when I lifted my head to look for him I saw him nowhere. I felt dumb for being so paranoid. 

I was feeling ill, my face feeling flushed and my body sweaty. I shrugged that notion of being sick as still being groggy from sleep and the hotness induced by the summer day. 

I hadn't eaten a lot for dinner tonight, I didn't think my stomach would be able to handle it. 

My eyes went out of focus and my vision spun even though my head remained unmoved. I closed my eyes, shutting out the dizziness, which was only replaced with a throbbing in the back of my head and at my temples. I laid down to sleep, confident that more rest would ward away any oncoming illness and headaches.

The next morning I was up early, before the sun had peeked over the horizon. Piccolo was standing atop the waterfall – I only knew he was awake because his legs weren't crossed in a meditative position – with his arms folded in a gesture that had become familiar to me. 

An early morning breeze picked up, thick with a sticky humidity that told me it was going to be another unbearably hot day, and made Piccolo's cape billow. I floated up curiously, still a good distance behind him, and looked to see what had his attention. There was nothing unusual in the sky, no birds yet awake, all the nighttime bats having fled before the first rays of light shown. I gave his back an incredulous look, finding it both unimaginable and laughable that he was watching the sunrise. 

"You're watching the sunrise?" I guffawed, wanting to rub it in, "The demon is watching a sunrise?"

I forced out another derisive laugh to taunt him further, holding my ribs as if from the laughter when, really, my lungs ached from it. Slowly and inconspicuously, I stopped, wanting to end the tightening in my lungs that was making it difficult to breathe without drawing attention to it.

Piccolo kept his back to me and I was disappointed that I had not been able to rile him.

"You can stop calling me a demon, brat."

"And you can stop calling me a brat, _demon_."

My stomach twisted painfully and suddenly I didn't want to say anything more. I clutched my stomach at the sides, massaging hard, which did me no good. I considered getting something for breakfast, I was probably so hungry that my stomach was cramping, but I discovered that had no lust for food this morning. 

In my pained and impatient state the sun took too long to rise. It was the first time I had actually watched a sunrise and saw the pinks and oranges that colored the sky – There was nothing spectacular about it. I saw nothing enchantingly beautiful.

The pain churning in my stomach had my attention and also seemed to make the wait even longer. Eventually Piccolo turned around and I automatically slackened the muscles in my face, which I hadn't realized I had scrunched in my agony. He failed to notice or acknowledge my pained expression and I narrowed my eyes, aggravated by his lack of consideration, but also relieved that he had not seen my weakness. I followed him to our usual, desolate training ground, trying to fight away the twisted feel in my stomach. We began as always – Me hurling punches and unsuspected kicks that somehow were expected by him. 

"You have attempted the same attacks countless times, don't you think that I would be able to anticipate them?" 

He hit my hand away, further proving his point. 

"Do something different!" he barked.

I screamed, powering up to my fullest extent, concealing my embarrassment and wounded pride with anger. I had every intention of charging Piccolo, with no idea yet of what I would do, when I teetered, suddenly dizzy. I shook my head, closing me eyes and reopening them, pretending that Piccolo hadn't noticed, then launched myself at him. On a spontaneous whim of thought, I _zanzokened_ behind him, meaning to kick him in the head. Rather, Piccolo grabbed hold of my foot, surprising me when I had been so sure that he would not expect _that_, and whipped me toward the ground. 

It should have been reasonably simple for me to halt my descent, but another upsurge of dizziness assaulted me. My vision blurred and jumped as if I had been shaking my head vigorously; my concentration became as fuzzy and boggled as my sight. I closed my eyes, overcome with tiredness and concentrated, with great difficulty, on getting enough power into an energy shield to protect my landing. Upon impact I fell unconscious.

*****

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Author's Note – As my beta-reader Ly says, second chapters are the hardest to write. *sighs* Thank you, Ly, for being such a great beta-reader! *huggles*

I am curious to know, as this was mentioned by a reviewer, if anyone is curious as to why Piccolo is _not_ in Hell (other than the fact that I did no appreciate him being killed off in the series and brought him back 'cause I felt like it). If people really seem interested, then I will add that "story" either to the end of this story, or as a one-shot. Just let me know if you can't do without an explanation. 

Thank you to Ryukodomo, PiccolosdragoN, The Chosen One, tREK, Hollow and my Anonymous reviewer for the reviews. ^_^ Reviews and criticism are all welcome and very much appreciated. Flamers will just be pitied (and deleted, as most don't have a log-in name). If you tell me what I'm doing wrong I'll love you forever and ever.

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Planned Update – 12/23 


	3. Ambitions

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Title - Determination

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Author - Toreina-Mei a.k.a. Jenna

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Chapter Three

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Ambitions

***** 

When I regained consciousness I was still weary, but also very disappointed in myself. I was baffled, not knowing how I could have possibly passed out. I berated myself over it. 

Someone held me in his or her arms; the position was uncomfortable and I didn't think I was able to shift or get comfortable anyway. I could hear my dad's voice coming from right above me and determined him to be the one who was holding me. 

"Videl, he trained me the same way. Don't worry about her, she'll be just fine," dad said lightly. 

I certainly felt far from fine and knowing that my father was not showing the tiniest amount of sympathy or worry for my condition made me feel worse. When I heard momma begin a harsh tirade, I felt a little better. At least she was on my side. 

"How dare you do this to our daughter! She isn't Goku or any one of your other Saiyan buddies that can just triple their power whenever they feel like it. She's human! She has limits, you know."

She was yelling at Piccolo, I realized, and dad had been trying to defend him. My mother was trying to defend me, but she was doing a lousy job. Piccolo had started to reply and I cut him off, so insulted that I had to say something. 

"I am Saiyan, momma," I said rudely, "and how dare you say I can't fight."

"You know that's not what I meant-"

"That's exactly what you meant. You think I can't fight so you don't want me to do it!"

Weak, drowsy and having said what I felt I had to, I resigned myself to being a listener. A constricting knot had formed in my chest, so I couldn't have said anything more even if I'd wanted to. 

"Pan!"

"Pan, be respectful," dad reprimanded.

"Actually," Piccolo finally spoke, "your daughter has improved remarkably. I believe you would be rather surprised at how far she has come."

My ego swelled, just a bit, at his compliment. I was surprised that he would stick up for me like that, but it actually held very little meaning to me because of my dislike for him. 

"Well thanks to you she's sick with who knows what! You tell me how that's an improvement."

"Pan is just a little over-exerted. Her body couldn't handle all of this adrenaline so she just needs to rest for a few days. Then she'll be perfectly fine," dad said. 

Papa was doing his best to make Piccolo seem like a good guy, or at least a not-so-bad guy, and was acting like this was no big deal. I was laid down on the bed and they left my room: mom still fuming, dad remaining calm, Piccolo as grumpy as usual. 

A while later, after everything had calmed down, while I was awaiting sleep, I listened to the small pieces of conversation that managed to float through the wall. 

"So, Piccolo, how _did_ you get out of Hell?"

"Good behavior?" he offered flatly.

I stopped listening and fell asleep. 

***** 

My parents expected me to stay in bed, instead I was up, walking carefully so as not to stumble and feel incompetent. I had to prove to myself that I was strong. Which I was.

Piccolo was outside, hovering in meditation; I could see him through the window. I opened it, looking at him as if he had put on a curly red wig and was doing a jig. \line

"What are you doing here?" I asked caustically. 

It was typical of him not to respond, but since I was not in the mood, I picked up the nearest object, a small mirror on my dresser, and threw it at him. Piccolo's eyes popped open and the mirror was disintegrated. My own eyes grew wider then a steering wheel.

Energy beams. 

From his eyes. 

"Teach me that."

"What?" 

His voice was very snappish.

"Teach me how to make energy come out of my eyes."

The ridiculousness of that comment was lost to me then, I was so serious about learning that that I didn't think about what I was saying. 

"Go back to bed, brat," he commanded sharply. 

"No."

I sat down on the window ledge, brought my knees up to my chest, turned, and scooted outside. I ignored the cramping in my abdomen from that brief movement, making my expression of pain one of adamant resolve. 

"You're my trainer. So train me! It's not like I'm dying of some incurable disease, you just can't beat me up for a week. And I'm sure you're disappointed, but you can still train me. Teach me, Piccolo." t felt weird saying his name. 

"Please." It felt even weirder to say that. 

"No."

I gaped at him, then I got peeved. I try to be nice to him and he throws it right back in my face! My abdomen wrenched, my chest broiled with searing heat and my throat tightened to the point where I couldn't breath. Torn between hiding my pain and winning this argument, my chest heaved as I sought to inhale the air that was impossible to get. I spun and made a dash for the nearest support, that being the window, and unable to make it I collapsed onto my knees on the ground. 

"What's wrong?"

Piccolo lacked compassion and sympathy, offered no touch or consolation. He just stood where he was, pretending like he gave a damn. 

The knot in my throat disappeared and I choked on the air that rushed in. The other pains were still there, licking with greedy dementedness, slowly dissipating. Normally I would have responded with a "nothing", but since it was obvious that there _was_ something wrong, I went for the next best answer. 

"I don't know."

I never realized excessive adrenaline could do this to a person. In all actuality, I think a lot of this may be from injuries that I got from Piccolo that were finally showing up to slap me across the face. 

"Here," he said, shoving a canteen into my hands. 

I unscrewed the lid and drank, realizing at that moment just how dry my throat was. Piccolo watched me intensely. I disregarded his unfriendly staring. 

"Tomorrow."

I looked at him oddly, handing him back his canteen of water. What about tomorrow? Oh. 

Inwardly, I smiled, satisfied. 

*****

It was early, late by Piccolo's standards if we had been in the woodland, and the sun was not fully risen. We were a short distance into the forest, my house still in sight. I was standing, Piccolo behind me growling orders. 

"How do you bring out energy?"

A sarcastic reply came to mind that I thought better of saying, knowing I would have been back-handed for it. It would have pissed me off to say anyway. 'With my hands.' Hmph.

Truthfully, I had never really thought about _how_ the energy came out. It just did. 

"I- I don't know."

"Can you feel it?"

I felt for my energy, touching upon it. 

"Yes," I answered. 

"Then feel it up to your eyes. Don't try to visualize it," he warned, as if he could pluck the very thoughts my mind, "let it flow naturally."

When it came out through my hands, I was so frustrated that I was ready to throw a fit. Somehow I stayed calm. 

"Stop restricting yourself. You're too narrow-minded. Just feel for your energy, just like if you were sensing me or my energy. Focus on it and instead of following it, make it follow you."

While it made sense and was a nice theory, it wasn't so simple to actually do. I worked on it for nine days, alternating between my training, sleeping and eating (whenever I could stomach any food). My reward was energy spouting from my ears, which left them tingling and ringing. 

Maybe I should have been proud that I had accomplished something, but it wasn't what I was aiming for, so I got no satisfaction from it. Only frustration. I kept at it, though, refusing to stop until I achieved my goal.

I had just eaten brunch, as it was too late to call it breakfast, and was feeling better than I had in previous days. There was no pain, burning or cramping to slow me down; not a trace. I was heading outside, but I got distracted. It was very strange, and somewhat amusing, to see Piccolo standing in the family room. I had never actually _seen_ him in the house before and he looked much too large for our ceilings even if he had enough room to stand at full height. 

There was something in his presentation and mannerisms that conveyed seriousness, or more seriousness than usual. He spoke in a tone that someone might use if they were trying to convince a crowd to agree with their cause. 

"Yeah," papa nodded, "I can feel it."

Piccolo glanced out of the window, his eyes narrowed and looking ultimately grim. 

"Originally I thought it was one enormous power, but there is a lot of them, Gohan."

"I know. But who says they have to be hostile?"

"When have they not been?" Piccolo pointed out. 

"Well let's just go see. If we don't get too close, then there's no harm done, right?" he smiled gently. 

"Go see what?" I asked. 

I had tried to follow their conversation, but I think I missed a large part of it. 

"Piccolo says there's a ship that landed somewhere around Satan City. We need to go see what, exactly, is going on."

Dad had spoken to me as if I were a child, but I let it roll off. The prospect of seeing aliens outweighed anything else, except for my excitement that I could finally test my techniques in a real battle, one that would actually have some kind of importance. 

I desperately wanted to go with them. 

*****

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Author's Note – I'm thinking, almost positive, that there will be only two more chapters to this. And, since no one has acknowledged wanting to know the 'How Piccolo got out of Hell'-end-of-story-filler, then my job has been made easier. 

Aaand, my computer has broken, so I have to work on my laptop and go to my brother's computer for any uploadings. This shouldn't cause any problems, though. 

****

Thank You's – To Ly, my favoritest, and only, beta-reader. And to PiccolosdragoN, Larania, Jazne4, Sukie Chan, Ryukodomo, kitsu, and especially Chaotic-Soul (you're so loveable, and I don't even know you ^_^;;) Thankies folks! J

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Planned Update – 1/2/03


	4. Charged

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Title – Determination

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Author – Toreina-Mei a.k.a. Jenna

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Chapter Four

:

Charged

*****

Confident, I walked up to Piccolo and my father. Maybe I was being bold, but I wanted to make sure they knew I was serious.

"I want to go."

"No," papa said sharply. 

"Why not?" I asked with wide-eyed surprise.

"Because we are _not_ going there to start a fight _and_ if there _is_ a fight, I don't want you getting involved!"

I was already prepping myself for a fight. This was too good to miss out on and I should have been mad when he tried to prevent me from going, but I wasn't. I was too excited and I would go anyway. There was something about the prospect of battle that made me believe that it would test my abilities, like it was exactly what I needed to go Super. That's how everyone else had done it: in battle. So I would too. I still needed to say something though, to try and get his permission.

"Stop treating me like I don't know how to fight. You think that just because I'm not a half-Saiyan like you I can't fight. Just because I'm a girl means that I'll get my ass kicked!"

Even though I was acting mad, I had never actually cursed in front of my father and I didn't know how he would take it. Actually, I really didn't care. I held my head up, my forehead scrunched in anger, glaring defiantly at my father. It would have been nice if Piccolo jumped in on my behalf, as I actually expected him to, but of course he wasn't _that_ nice. 

"No, Pan, I don't want to lose you!"

"I've got something for you to do, brat," Piccolo said gruffly. 

The sentiments that my papa was dragging in didn't settle well with me, I never knew how to respond to it, so I was relieved when Piccolo stepped in. I don't think he even liked to hear anything about it either. 

"What?" I demanded.

"Go to Capsule Corp., get Vegeta and Trunks, tell them to meet up with us at the crash site. I want you to get Goten as well."

Piccolo had explained that very carefully, as if it were of some great importance. I just gave him a funny look.

"I thought you said there wasn't going to be any fighting?"

"We're just taking precautions," papa answered. "Now please go!"

"Going, going," I mumbled.

Reluctantly, I left the house, making it a point to stomp on my way out. I took off, flying my fastest, which never was fast enough. Piccolo and my father left just after I did, flying off in another direction. I envied their power and pushed myself to speed up.

My task didn't feel important, but the situation now had that feel to it. I'm not sure where it came from. I could have easily turned around and gone with Piccolo and my father, but I decided I would do what was asked of me. Only because it would give me an excuse to show up. 

Seven minutes later I was hovering above Capsule Corp. I could sense Vegeta in the gravity machine below me, which I turned away from; I felt for Trunks because, frankly, I preferred to avoid any kind of ordeal with his father. I would let Trunks get him. 

I flew over and tapped on Trunks' office window, where I could see him bent over a desk of neatly stacked papers. He whirled around in his chair, I couldn't make out the expression on his face, and swung open the window. He looked annoyed, like I had caused him some great inconvenience.

"You can't just go flying around here! What if people see you!" he fussed.

I said the first defense that popped into my head.

"Kiss my ass! My dad says there's a spaceship that crashed… eh, wherever. Him and Piccolo went to go see what's going on and they wanted me to come get you and your papa, they want you to meet up with them."

"Damnit. It's just not that easy to leave work, Pan."

"Don't tell me that!" I said, taking the defensive.

Trunks grumbled, but folded himself to fit out of the window, taking off without another word to me. I gaped angrily after him, curling my lip at his rudeness and because he had left _me_ to get Vegeta.

For a moment I stared at the gravity machine. I wasn't afraid of him, not in the least, but he made me uneasy. Not in the way Piccolo did when he stared at me, but I always got the feeling that Vegeta was always ready to break my neck. 

I desperately searched for any excuse not to see him, but finding none I floated down and banged on the door. If he didn't answer, then I could just leave. I waited, jerking my head back when I heard an explosion within. The door never opened. So I gratefully left.

I was supposed to get Goten, but I didn't. We hadn't talked since I got back anyway, he had given me a few dirty looks though. I guess I just didn't want to talk to him. 

Trunks already had a few minutes on me and I was too eager to get to the spaceship. I hoped the aliens were hostile; I wanted a fight. I was soon caught up to Trunks and speeding by him. The look of shock on his face was great! Then, unexpectedly, he became angry.

"Go home, Pan!"

  
"No way!" I called, too pleased to be riled.

He tried to catch up to me and I got worried, turning my face forward. I checked back frantically and he was still behind me, unable to catch up. I wondered why he was holding back, but I was much too proud of myself to actually care. I was ahead of him, so I had no reason to care why he lagged behind. He looked frustrated and I laughed at him.

I saw the spaceship before anything else. It was smaller than I had imagined, maybe as large as a standard-sized house. It looked as if it were hovering above the ground, as if it were just about to land, but I realized that it had already landed. The ship looked sophisticated, silver and metal built together into some with pointed angles all around that looked more futuristic than anything Bulma could come up with.

From afar, I saw Piccolo and my father with three blue, orange-haired men. As I approached, I could see papa gesturing as he spoke, not urgently, but almost exasperatedly. As I got closer, I began to hear some of the shouting from one of the aliens. I couldn't make anything of the pieces.

They were dressed in white gowns, a nasty blue-gray vest overtop. Two of the men had capes tied around their necks. They looked up at me with thick, black sunglasses covering their eyes, and I ignored their gazes, landing behind Piccolo and my father. Trunks was close behind. Papa was ready to say something to me, about being there I assumed.

"You!" one man shouted.

"Is this them, Dumu?"

"Two of them, yes!" he cried.

I think that guy was really wound up. His eyes were wide and he was trying to grin under his bushy moustache - He looked goofy. I wondered if he was insane.

"Gohan, Piccolo," said the man in front, who I assumed was the one in charge, "they will come with us. Their crimes are to be punished on our planet."

"Executed!" the third man shouted.

"Executed?" I burst out. "For what!"

"Excuse my friend here," Trunks said congenially, stepping to the front. "May I ask what you think we have done and what you are trying to charge us with?"

"Certainly," the man in charge said business-like. "You two, along with a third party, came to our planet and stole our most prized scientific study: an orange ball with five black stars that contained an unknown power. One we were very close to discovering. We also have reason to believe that you kidnapped a highly respected scientist: Dr. Myuu. You are to be executed on these accounts and this planet will be searched for Dr. Myuu.

"We didn't steal anything from you," I said.

Really, I couldn't remember if we had or not. It had been a year; I couldnt't remember how we got each Black Star ball.

"She's right. The ball was given to us. And, I'm sorry, but we don't know your Dr.Myuu and we never kidnapped anyone."

"Liar!" Dumu shouted.

"You are both poor liars. Come with us peacefully or we will force you to come with us."

"They haven't done anything and you have no proof that they've even done anything, Nunya. 'Reasons to believe' doesn't count as proof," papa said sternly, speaking with a boldness I had never heard from him before.

Nunya lunged, his companion readily following, Dumu tailing blindly. They came after Trunks and I. They moved so slowly that I could have gotten out of the way and been behind them before they knew I had moved, instead I waited for him. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Trunks had done what I could have. 

I grabbed this guy by the wrists and yanked him toward me, driving my knee into his gut. I howled in pain and sprung back one-footed, glaring at Nunya furiously. There was something under his outfit that could have broken my knee if I'd used more power.

My father attacked him, focused purely on the man's head. That made me mad. I wanted to fight my own battle. I watched, waiting for an opening where I could get back in and show my father that I didn't need him. Papa hit the man so hard that he was lifted off the ground and landed a couple yards back. He started powering up an energy blast, so I did the same. 

I cupped my hands together, preparing to use an attack that I had come up with when I had been sparring with Piccolo. I was going to put as much power as I could into it; I had to show my father that I was strong.

I knew that papa was using his Kamehameha wave, so we released our energy at the same time. 

"Power Blast!" I had named it for exactly what it was.

I shoved it out of my hand, controlling it with one arm, using my other arm to steady that one. The two energy beams traveled at the same rate, far enough apart so that they wouldn't touch and cause a massive explosion, heading for Nunya. He lifted his upper body off the ground, supported by an elbow, and held up an open palm. He was an idiot.

The energy thinned and was seemingly absorbed right into his palm. Something red glinted against the sunlight.

"What!" I shrieked. 

He grinned, got to his feet and came after me again. My father tried to interject, but I flew in front and met the man halfway. I aimed for his head, like papa had. I jumped and kicked him to the ground, drawing out more energy to throw at him. Eight energy balls and two beams, all sucked into his palm. I was furious and no longer thinking rationally. I willingly lost control.

*****

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Author's Notes – *giggles* I _will_ be writing the 'How-Piccolo-got-out-of-Hell' story. I'm not yet sure if it will be at the end of this story, like a little bonus for reading, or if I will put it up as a separate story. ^_^;; 'Cause I kinda wanted to put something else after the story, but I dunno if I'ma do that. And, since I'm rambling, I'll just hush-hush now.

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Thank You's – To Ly, as always. *huggles* You're such a great beta-reader, even if you have a new computer with a really sucky program and can't figure out how it works. ;)

And to my spifferific reviewers: badger wolf, XZanayu, PiccolosdragoN, Chaotic-Souls, Kutie-Pan and mz. I am very pleased to know that you are all enjoying the story and are kind enough to give me your wonderful reviews. ^_^

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Planned Update – 1/9/03


	5. A Fateful Battle

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Title – Determination

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Author – Toreina-Mei a.k.a. Jenna

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Chapter Five

:

A Fateful Battle: The Helpless Conclusion

*****

High up in the sky, Piccolo and Trunks worked well together against the nameless caped man. I saw them when I tilted my head back, screaming skyward as my energy soared to its limit. Briefly I wondered where that insane guy had disappeared to, but he had probably gotten scared and scampered off. Battle was a scary thing, just not to me.

No matter how I tried, or how much I wanted it, the Super Saiyan form alluded me. The screaming ended, energy was cackling around me, kicking up loose dirt and rocks, blowing my hair up. My bandana came untied and slipped off; I could really care less at that point. 

I purposely contorted my face into a look of pure madness, glowering at Nunya. Behind his bushy moustache he was smirking, practically taunting me. That made me want to kick in his teeth even more. So I charged. No, I went on a rampage. My fists flew at a speed that made it feel like they were out of control. They pounded into his nose, jaw, cheeks, eye and neck, procuring a muddy yellow blood that dripped down into his moustache. I clasped my hands together, turned to the side and then swung back around, clobbering him and propelling him back several feet. He lay there entirely still. No doubt he was incapacitated and I flew over to him anyway, hovering with my feet hanging so close above him that his clothes were rustling from the energy that was pushed out through my feet to keep me airborne.

My breathing was labored, mostly from the combination of rage and physical exertion; keeping my energy at its peek was no easy feat either. It was getting a little hard to breathe; it was just some constriction in the chest that could have easily been there because I had neglected regulating my breathing.

I nudged Nunya in the ribs, cautiously at first as I remembered the pain from kneeing whatever solid plating was underneath his outfit. It was hard like melted plastic, but it had to be something much tougher than that. I kicked his upper arm with the ball of my foot with enough force to rouse a sleeping person and that was hard too. 

__

What the fuck?

Since I failed to find a soft spot on his upper torso, I kicked his head lightly with the toe of my training boots. His head lolled over to face in the other direction. I wanted him to stir, so that I would have a reason to fight him more, but I was dragged away by the arms before I could give him another nudge. 

"Papa!" I shouted irritably.

"He's unconscious. Stop it," he said strictly.

"He wants to kill me and Trunks!" I said loudly, exasperated

"Trunks and I," he corrected.

"Oh, yeah, this is the perfect time to correct my grammar, papa!" 

There was a loud noise somewhere behind me as something heavy hit the ground. I knew before I even turned that it was a body, Nunya's partner who had fallen. Piccolo and Trunks landed next to the body while I tried to figure out if he was dead or not; I became solemn when I finally decided he was dead. A fall from that high up with no energy shield would kill a person, easily breaking their back and many other bones in the body. Piccolo swiftly walked towards my father and I.

"There are more on their way. Where is Vegeta? And Goten? We need them now!"

He was looking to me, his permanent scowl making it hard to tell if he was being his usual self or if he was actually getting angry, maybe even desperate.

"Vegeta was in the gravity machine and he didn't answer. It would have taken too long to get Goten so I came here…" I explained meekly, trying to make it sound good.

"We need them, Pan!" Trunks exploded as he stalked over to us. "There are a good thirteen-fourteen more of those aliens on their way here now. It might be easy to fight them two on one, but our chances three on one aren't good. In case you didn't notice, they're using _highly_ advanced technology that I couldn't even come up with! We need Vegeta and Goten!"

"Well then why don't you go get them!" I yelled back.

"It's a little late for that!"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Not really, but I was so fed up with listening to Trunks, of all people, reprimand me that I would have said anything to make him shut up.

"Go get them, Pan," Trunks commanded.

"What?" I asked in sharp disbelief.

"Go get them," he repeated.

"No."

"Now," he said forcefully.

"No," I folded my arms and looked away, refusing to meet my father's gaze as well.

"Damnit, they need me here. You have to go get them."

"All you do is call me weak. I've been training ever since we came back and you haven't lifted a finger except to grab a pen! I'm not going anywhere!" I shouted defiantly.

"Pan," Trunks growled, aggravated.

He shot off, still growling. I remained as I was, with my head turned up slightly and ignoring the stares from Piccolo and my father. They said nothing and we waited in a tension-filled silence for the other aliens. 

My breathing was still heavy from yelling and I wanted to open my mouth, to make it an easier task, but I would have ended up wheezing, which I refused to let Piccolo and my father hear. I could still fight. As several dark blotches appeared across the desolate land, patches of dead grass all around, my stomach began to cramp. I pursed my lips and squinted my eyes, waiting for the pain to subside. It continued to twist, which made me want to double over and massage it. I resisted the temptation and remained where I was, hoping that I was doing nothing out of the ordinary to make my father think there was something wrong with me.

The aliens checked on their fallen comrades and Nunya's partner was, indeed, dead. They pulled something out of his hand and moved over to Nunya, who had sat up and was whispering to them. They were too far away to hear, but I saw a flash of bright light from his palm go to the man that was tending to him. Nunya, who was disoriented still, said something more and pointed over to us. Suddenly there were thirteen angry faces on us. I can do good work when I want to, I acknowledged with a proud, mental nod.

Behind me, Piccolo and my papa began to hover in the air. Papa called my name, somewhat urgently, and told me to get up there with them. These men seemed incapable of flying, so we were going for any kind of advantage we could get. They were unable to use energy, but they absorbed it easy enough, which rankled me.

"Are we going to blast them?" I asked.

"No," Piccolo said, "we're going to attack them one at a time and then get back in the air. We have to buy time until Trunks returns with Vegeta and Goten."

I curled my lip in displeased disgust, but I nodded my consent. All we had to do was rocket down, kick one of the aliens, then fly out of reach. That was simple enough.

My father went first, dropping straight down toward the alien in front. He flipped suddenly and planted both feet on the man's chest and pushed him backward into scattered group, knocking down two others. In the next second he was up here again with us. I was ready to go next and since Piccolo was already heading down I went with him. He kicked his target easy enough, who was too slow to move out of the way. The guy I picked out fell on his rear end before I was even in range to kick, so I looked to pick someone else. I selected one of the men that were rushing toward me. They were close and my stomach felt like it was twisted in knots, making my movement slower than usual, so I had to kick another away. Soon they were all swarming around me and I didn't have enough feet or speed with my gut cramping to keep them all at bay. My papa swooped down, took out several of the men with a single kick, grabbed me and carried me into the air. I wiggled out of his arms, telling him that I could fly myself.

"Gohan!" Piccolo cried.

Even from a distance, I could see anxiety and fear in his wide eyes and half-open mouth: two emotions I had never seen from him before. He had gathered and released a beam of energy in less than a nanosecond. I turned around, worried but mostly curious as to what had Piccolo fretting, to a sight that I would have rather not seen. Two jets of energy streamed by and another crashed into them to deflect them, of which I paid no heed, and I could only stare with a nauseous stomach. My father floated in the air: his eyes wide, mouth open and face contorted into agony. There were two holes in his body, one in the left side of his chest and the other lower towards the kidneys. I stared at him as he tried to look down, then he fell out of the sky as if his brain finally registered that he should be dead. It seemed wrong to let him fall, so I ignored my own discomfort and caught him before he hit the ground. I laid him down gingerly, not really knowing what to do or how to react. 

The aliens were running at me, all in a disorganized group. I stood and wiped my papa's blood from my hands onto my pants. I hiccupped helplessly in my efforts to prevent myself from crying like a pathetic little baby. Piccolo joined my side and, as the men came closer, I regained my ability to think and suddenly knew what to do. I powered up, again, screaming through the lump in my throat. They would pay for what they did to my father. I would kill them!

I burst forward, tackling one man to the ground and I began punching him, desperately wanting to kill him yet not hitting him hard enough to do so. I couldn't bring myself to kill. Someone kicked me in the face, snapping my head back, but I was entirely numb it seemed. He kicked me again and, irritated, I stood and smashed my fist into his cheek. Piccolo knocked away two more men and backed up against me. I felt like I was about to go berserk, that I had to do something to get every one of them. My thinking was far from rational and I channeled most of my energy into a wide blast, forgetting that they could absorb the energy until it had been sucked into the nearest aliens palms. I launched myself at him and pummeled him before the others could attack me themselves. He lifted his hand and shot the energy out blindly. I leapt out of the way and kicked him to knock him out.

It got quiet after that. Some noise was missing and it took me a moment to figure out that there was no shuffling behind me that would indicate a fight. I turned and Piccolo collapsed to the ground, his gi burned off as well as various areas of skin. My stomach lurched and I was ready to puke. Even if I hated the guy it was awful to see him like that.

Pain suddenly flared throughout my body and I dropped to my knees, unable to bare it. My head throbbed, my vision spun, I could hardly breathe and I curled up into a ball and waited for the aching to stop. Another body, a human body, appeared in my line of vision and lashed out at the aliens. I closed my eyes then and relied on my senses to tell me that Trunks had returned. Vegeta and Goten were with him.

I listened to fighting, trying to tell them not to use any of their energy against them, but my throat was tight and unable to produce sound. So I just lay there, listening and hoping that no one stepped on me. Several minutes later it was all over and even my pain was subsiding. Goten came over to me, checking me over and talking to me. Tears had leaked from my eyes, making a trail through the dirt I never realized was there. I tuned him out, thinking only of the scenes that I had been unfortunate enough to witness. The images were permanently embedded in my head and I was forced to relive the moments no matter how desperately I tried to rid myself of them.

Eventually I got up, suffering through my body's pain. I endured it just to get away from the place where Piccolo and my father had been killed. I'm sure Trunks and Goten were watching me, but I was distraught and I had no idea what to do. 

I couldn't tell mother what happened. She needed to know and the responsibility of telling her was undesired. Goten would tell her, but I just couldn't do it. I really wanted to stay as far from home and from my mama as was possible. 

I began to feel empty, not really wanting to continue walking, but not wanting to stop either. I was confused and concentrated purely on my footsteps, effectively blocking out the other thoughts that threatened to engulf me, but the images weren't easily gotten rid of.

A large shadow was in front of me and I glanced up. It was the alien's space ship, floating silently only inches off the ground. There was a ramp resting on the ground that led up to a squared opening. I walked up the ramp and into the ship. There was a doorway before me and the hall continued on either side of me; I went straight so that I wouldn't get lost. I stopped at a black door and knocked on it with my knuckle to see what it was made of. It felt like hard plastic, but it sounded metal. There was a panel on the side with ten buttons. I started pressing them randomly in hopes of opening the door and when that failed I began to beat on the door. Surprisingly, it slid open. 

"Dumu!"

I shoved him back and he lost his balance and fell on his rump, catching himself with his hands. He quickly scooted away. I grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and pulled him up. He didn't look scared and he didn't try to get away either. There was a large screen and several raised platforms with various controls. It was all confusing to me, so I looked to Dumu, putting on my best angry face, which really wasn't hard to do.

"Can you fly this?"

He stared at me.

"Well, can you?" I said louder.

Dumu remained frozen, then nodded.

"Then make it take off. Get it in space," I demanded roughly.

"But-"

"But what?"

I waited for a response and he hesitated. Since I didn't have the patience to wait, and I thought I knew what he wanted to ask, I already had an answer for him.

"You can leave your buddies here! Now unless you want me to kill you you'll get this thing flying!" I screamed, very close to losing it. 

He looked around nervously. I wasn't serious about killing him, but hopefully I sounded serious enough. He reluctantly began fiddling with the controls and the screen separated into three parts, showing what was in front, behind and beside us, although I wasn't sure which showed what. I grew nervous as we left the atmosphere, but I shoved the feeling away. I began thinking of my father's death again, replaying the scene until I was on the verge of vomiting. 

I needed Dumu to watch the controls in case something happened, so I couldn't chain him up somewhere. Nor could I leave to investigate the ship because he could do something with the ship, redirect our course or contact his people, so I had to watch him carefully. 

There were several chairs in the room and I tugged him over to one, sitting him down in it. I sat down next to him and folded my hands in my lap. My head was bowed and my hair fell forward without my bandana. I would now have to cope with the memory of my father's death. Piccolo's as well. I knew I would be haunted by the memories and I just kept on reliving them no matter how hard I tried not to. I couldn't help myself, I really didn't want to relive them, but I did. Dumu watched the controls, which made me think that he would try something, therefore my attention was directed toward him. I stared at him dully until I became lost in my own world of tormenting thoughts. Already I regretted coming into space with Dumu, who I was certain was crazy. I sorted helplessly through my emotions, feeling sorrow and grievance. And then I felt completely empty inside.

The End

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Semi-Important Note – The mystery of Pan's "pain-attacks" remained unanswered in the story. They will be answered in the sequel, so fret not. ^_^

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Author's Note – Yes, already we have come to the end as sad as that is. However, there _will_ be a sequel. I could easily go on with this story, but I feel that it is best to keep them separate because I have still have things to add after the ending of this story. A Prologue, an Alternate Ending (because this story creates an Alternate Universe) and after that will be the Piccolo story: No Good Deed Goes Unappreciated. I could change my mind at the last minute and post it as a one-shot, but we'll see.

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Thank You's – To Ly. *huggles* You're an excellent beta-reader and this story wouldn't be as good without you.

And to my reviewers, who give me welcome appraisal and encouragement to continue with this story. I am very touched to know that I created a story that could be admired. XD With that, I say thank you to: XZanayu and Mindy, the reviewers of my fourth chapter. ^_^


	6. Aftermath

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Title: Determination

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Author: Toreina-Mei a.k.a. Jenna

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Aftermath

:

It Can Never Stay the Same

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It seemed like it was another peaceful day; the sky was cloudless, the sun shone warmly and a pleasant breeze kept the air enjoyable. Unfortunately, that was not the case. The ground was painted with blood; in some areas it had spilled into puddles, in others it had splashed in scattered droplets, but it stained a large portion of the ground.

And mingled with the dirtied, dried red blood of Saiyans and humans, and the yellow blood of the blue-skinned men, was the purple blood of a Namek. The Namek, though his body was in tact, was scalded and his flesh was melted, raised and giving off wisps of smoke. A rancid stench floated in the air, complimenting the grotesque scene.

He moved his hand cautiously, testing it. The single, simple movement made his arm burn with pain and the muscles throughout his arm felt as if they were tearing like wet paper. Even breathing was a torturous labor, forcing his hardened skin to stretch passed its charred limitations. Piccolo was sure he appeared to be a dead carcass, which is what he was drifting toward becoming. He felt his life, his very strength and energy, fleeing from him. He should know what it was like -- he had already died thrice.

For a brief few seconds he thought he heard Gohan's voice, asking him if he was all right. He concentrated on that voice, sure that he had seen Gohan die, but hoping in his disillusioned condition that maybe he had survived. Then the voice became clearer, though still distant in his ringing ears, and it became dispiritingly apparent that it wasn't Gohan. It was just his little brother Goten. Goten who, as far as he was concerned, was nothing like his former pupil. Nor was Pan anything like him: a stubborn, hot-headed little brat is what she was. Training her had been like being with Gohan again… in some distorted way. He had really hated that kid in the beginning, but he couldn't recall why. With Pan, she made it too hard for anyone to like her. But, even though she had been a nuisance, he didn't honestly _hate_ her.

Someone told him to hold on. Trunks, perhaps? Did it really even matter who was talking? He had nothing to hold onto, but he did have a desire to live. Not because he was afraid of death, but because he wanted to avoid Hell. It was ironic that Piccolo Daimao, Jr., the Demon King, was now avoiding the very place he had willingly sacrificed himself an eternity to for Goku. Hell wasn't for him anymore and, though he might have once tried to deny that, he could accept it now. He imagined himself sneering. _I've changed too damn much._

His breath was ragged and he was wheezing with the nearing end of his life. He was trying to stop the last sands of his life-glass from falling, much like a man would get in front of a bus and try to stop it from running over his child. Each second that passed was a second closer to Hell, and he was beginning to accept his fate, though he still warred against it. Something was put into his mouth, onto his tongue. He bit into weakly, but he chewed greedily. And suddenly he wasn't being swallowed into an enveloping darkness, his agony abruptly ceased and his life-threatening wounds healed. Piccolo was still tired, or rather imagined himself to be since he had felt so weak. Other than that though, he was fine. There were no traces of the violent battle, at last nothing visible on his body.

Piccolo stood and scanned the vicinity out of habit. Gohan's body had faded away; undoubtedly he was allowed to keep it in Other World. He didn't find the person he had searched for, although unaware that he had done so.

"Where's Pan?" he growled.

"She… left." Goten said hesitantly.

"Where?" he repeated.

"…In- in the ship."

"What!" he bellowed. "Was she kidnapped? Why didn't you go after her?" 

"Don't sound too concerned, Namek," Vegeta taunted. 

Piccolo looked at him, hard and menacingly; Vegeta was covered in soot, his hair was sprinkled with ash, and tiny scrapes of dried blood littered any revealed flesh. He had sounded far from desperate, but he admitted that he was concerned. Somehow it was his duty to protect Pan. Damn obligations. _Gohan had better be grateful. _

"The brat left on her own. And I'm the one who stopped the boys from going after her. Let her make her own mistakes instead of fixing them for her. Spoiled brat. She'll be back within two weeks," Vegeta said callously, staring at Piccolo with a smugness that he didn't like, daring him to challenge his decision.

He dared to challenge the almighty Prince of Saiyans.

"That's assuming she can even get back. Look Vegeta, if this is your idea of entertainment…" he said dangerously, letting the would-be threat dangle.

In response, Vegeta chuckled, but offered no inclination as to whether he had made the decision for the purpose of entertainment or for some other, ulterior motive. Because she was related to Goku might even be cause enough to him.

Frustrated, Piccolo growled.

"You can't tamper with lives like this! She's a kid," he said, as if that explained everything.

"So?"

His patience was reaching its limit, hanging on as if it were a piece of overstretched gum.

"Look, Namek, I don't have to answer to you," Vegeta said snidely, rudely.

Then he took off, leaving Piccolo with Trunks, Goten and several unconscious, if not dead, bodies scattered about. He turned his attention to the two boys. Goten looked absolutely miserable, his head bowed and his foot stubbing at the ground; and Trunks was entirely indifferent and calm about the situation. Piccolo was furious with them.

"How could you just let her leave?" he demanded, his voice sharp with accusation.

Goten shrugged dejectedly and looked to Trunks as if he had the answer. Could the brat not think for himself?

"My father has a point. Pan needs to take responsibility for her own actions. We can't always bail her out of these messes that she gets herself into," he explained, entirely supportive of his father's choice.

Trunks had no backbone, Piccolo decided, if he couldn't stand up to his father. He was intelligent, but he followed Vegeta blindly, putting his faith in him. Even if he knew Vegeta's decision wasn't the right one, he would still pretend to see his side of it and support him. Piccolo never understood it. Vegeta wasn't always right, in fact his decisions usually only served a purpose for him. As far as Piccolo knew, Pan had done nothing that would warrant _that_ kind of ill-treatment from him. He didn't have any right to screw with peoples' lives. Screw his Saiyan royalty lineage.

"You're father has no right to interfere with her life," Piccolo said.

"Neither do we," Trunks replied, dispassionately.

"There is a difference between interfering in someone's life and help them. You may have very well killed her," he hissed.

Piccolo gritted his teeth, turned and left. He was embarrassed about letting his emotions explode like that, for revealing so much when it was usually buried away from even him. There was no reason for him to act (and feel) so protective and maternal. Especially where Pan was concerned.

As he flew over Gohan's house, he consciously began to slow. Videl was entirely oblivious as to what had happened; she didn't know that her husband was dead, or that Pan was gone. Should he tell her? He knew how Bulma and ChiChi reacted to such news: they got angry and loud and usually screamed at the news bearer. Piccolo sighed and dropped out of the sky. Only out of respect for Gohan would he do this.

He paused before he went toward the house. His clothes were almost nonexistent, as most of them had been incinerated. Before he had had no reason to care, but humans were different. The woman especially. If he was going to visit Videl, then he had to be dressed in proper garments and so he quickly materialized a new, clean attire. He then resumed his trek up to the house and stood on the cement step in front of the door. For a long time he stood there, staring at the door with a blank mind. What was so difficult about this? Piccolo, finally determining that it was pointless to put off what had to be done, knocked on the door carefully. He really didn't want to break it down.

Videl opened the door and it was suddenly obvious that he couldn't simply say "Gohan's dead and your daughter has left the planet".

"Gohan's not here, but you can come in, if you want," she said politely, but almost uncertainly. He had never liked being in houses, they were too confining.

"No- I know Gohan's not here. We left earlier…" he paused, searching for a way to tell her lightly.

"Really? Where'd you guys have to go?" she asked for the sake of conversation. It had to have been awkward to talk to a giant, green, unfriendly-looking Namek.

"…Pan, Trunks and Goku were wanted criminals on another planet. The aliens attacked us, and there was a fight-"

"Where's Gohan? Where's my daughter?" Videl said briskly, finally seeming to ascertain what he was trying to say, but not wanting to believe it.

Piccolo stopped trying to find a gentle way to tell her.

"Gohan is dead, Videl…"

She squinted her eyes, but tears had already dripped out. 

"And Pan?" she choked, holding back a sob.

"She took off. On a space ship."

Her shoulders slumped forward. 

"How could you have let this happen?" she said quietly, through her crying and gasping.

That hurt more than any angry tirade from ChiChi or loud invective from Bulma. Videl didn't even raise her voice to him, she just whispered, blaming him. Even though he thought she might not have meant to, she was telling him that he could have prevented all of this. Those few words made him feel guilty. Like, somehow, he was the one responsible for all of this. He looked away, at the outside wall of the house, thinking about the battle. He recalled all the moves he made, and then he thought of all the moves he _ should_ have made. 

Videl stepped forward and laid her face against his chest, sobbing silently and intaking an occasional, sharp breath. Although Piccolo wanted to back away from the uncomfortable situation, he didn't. She had just lost her family, he felt it would be wrong to push her away. Or maybe he just didn't want her to have any reason for her to blame him for what happened. He wrapped an arm around her loosely, feeling that the gesture of comfort was awkward, but maybe necessary. It was a pitiful attempt, but at least he tried.

Piccolo wrapped his other arm around her and focused on _not_ crushing her tiny frame. She was tough, stronger than the average human, but he could still break her in half and had to remain aware of that. 

"I'm sorry," he said, hoping that the apology would mean something to her. 

He looked down at the top of her head and her petted her hair apprehensively , not really sure if she would approve of it. Videl didn't seem to mind. Piccolo sighed inaudibly and shifted his eyes toward the ground. There was no way to bring Gohan back, but he could go after Pan. He just wondered how he would. Maybe Bulma would have some way of helping him? 

Videl peered up at him. Her eyes were glossy, red-rimmed and, although his features remained expressionless, he felt a great amount of sorrow and compassion for her. The suffering already tinted in her gaze made him resolute. He would go after Pan. And he would bring her back before she got herself killed.

*****

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Author's Note - And so there you have the happenings on Earth, just in case you were curious. ;) A little late, ne? Yes, I do apologize. But anyway, I am in the process of writing up the Alternate Ending, which I should have up in a week or sooner. I also have two other chapter stories that I'm working on and a one-shot thing as well, so my free-time is booked. And don't worry! I haven't forgotten about the Piccolo story.

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Thank You's To - Chaotic-Souls (You mean I was predictable? Oh dear me… ^_^;; Not good at all) and Moose (couldn't have gotten back into my writing groove without you! *hugs*) for their reviews. ^_^

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Planned Update - 2/1 for the Alternate Ending. Half of it is already completed, so it should be done and edited soon. 


	7. Alternate Ending

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Title – Determination

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Author – Toreina-Mei a.k.a. Jenna

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Important Note – This is the ALTERNATE ending. Meaning a few things were done differently. To catch you up as to where this is starting: Pan had actually _tried_ to get Vegeta out of the Gravity Chamber and succeeded, she had gotten Trunks (but still not Goten) and they arrived to an already in progress-battle… Or perhaps I should say a concluding one? Either way, Gohan did _not_ die in this version and, since the ship was blown up, Pan had no chance to get on it nor any reason to get on it. 

Happy reading!

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Chapter Five, Version Two

:

Some Were Meant to Suffer

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There was no way to prepare for the scene that I arrived upon. Trunks landed behind me and I'm sure he was just as shocked as I was. The field of various remains, blue body parts still leaking a mucky yellow blood, made me feel queasy. I felt vomit working its way up, but I swallowed to push it back. I scanned over the vile sight, keeping my chest puffed out to seem tough. But really I was sad. I didn't know how I should feel; I was so confused. A rancid stench assaulted my nostrils and a put a hand over my nose to keep it out. When it seemed disrespectful to keep gaping, I turned away.

Then I saw the crater - the _enormous_ crater that still gave off wisps of smoke, which was blown in my direction by the breeze. I made my eyes go wide. It didn't look like a spacecraft had crashed; it looked like it had been blown up. Pieces of metal scraps, melted and bent irregularly, cluttered the charred and disturbed ground around the crater.

Vegeta, who I had managed to lure out of the Gravity Room with promises of a fight, was standing at its edge, peering down into it. It looked as if he was going to fall forward and in. I blamed him for this huge mess of repulsiveness. Did he blow up their ship? And did he do it on purpose? Just in case he had meant to do all of this, I eyed him warily and intentionally stayed away from him.

I looked over to my papa, who kicked away one of the aliens with a stiff kick to the head. He wouldn't have killed any of them, would he? Piccolo might have, though. I walked up to Piccolo slowly, my heart distressed and numbing to the surrounding massacre.

"So what did they want?" I asked.

"You, actually," Piccolo said pointedly and my eyes grew wide in question, "Trunks and Goku as well. They were searching for Dr. Myuu and believe that you had kidnapped him. They also wanted that Black Star Dragon Ball you took from them."

"We took that from them months ago!" I sighed, "I can't believe we fought over _that_."

"They also wanted you executed for your crimes."

I shrugged. That didn't mean much to me, I knew I wouldn't be getting killed today or any time soon. I was still young and I didn't have to worry about death yet, I wasn't going to be killed in battle – it couldn't happen to me. 

Trunks, Vegeta and my father came up, sweating and spattered with dirt. Vegeta, especially, was covered in soot and grime. He had definitely been the one to create that huge crater.

"What are we going to do with them?" Trunks asked, then looked back at the serious mess of separated limbs and parts, "or what's left of them?"

"Kill them," Vegeta growled. 

It was comments like that that made me wary of him, but I refused to fear him. I merely rolled my eyes.

"No, that's not even funny," my father said. Did he really think Vegeta was kidding? "We could put them in prison."

Piccolo snorted and I turned away, hiding my brief, sarcastic amusement. 

"They could break out too easily. They may not be strong, but they are intelligent. Besides, think about how the humans would react. They scare too easily."

I took offense to Piccolo's comment, though he wasn't directly speaking about me. It wasn't meant for me at all, but I couldn't help it. Human weaknesses were a sore subject with me. I was three-quarters human and I couldn't help but be touchy about it. So I embraced my Saiyan heritage, even though I knew very little about it, because they were stronger than any person on Earth was. They were superior and I liked that notion.

The stench of roasted flesh was making my stomach uneasy. It was impossible to get used to and if I had to smell it any longer I was going to puke. And I had nothing to puke up, so I wondered if I could even do that. I turned to leave and fly away, but I stopped abruptly. It hurt too much. It felt as if my stomach had been seized by a giant hand and squeezed and twisted just to torture me, then constriction in my throat returned with a relentless chokehold.

I couldn't breathe. My eyes started to water and my hands instinctively went to my throat. Oh, Dende! Air! I needed to breathe! 

"Pan!" my papa shouted, rushing to my side and placing an arm around my shoulders. I didn't want him to touch me.

I was desperate for oxygen as my forehead dropped to the sandy ground, irritating my skin. Papa rubbed my back – I didn't want to him to, it was a bothersome gesture and tried to jerk away from it. _Just stay off me!_ I gave him a nasty glare and he frowned, I knew he understood, but he still kept trying to soothe me.

My throat finally relented and loosened, allowing me to breathe again. My stomach was still twisted like braided hair, but I had air and, momentarily, I felt relieved. Then the pain seemed to sharpen suddenly and I held my tongue so that I didn't make any noise. I kept my head down, audibly sucking in air to prolong a confrontation with my father. Anything to prevent questions and worrying that I just didn't want.

"Pan, are you all right?"

I didn't answer; I didn't want to answer. He knew there was something wrong, that little episode proved it, but I didn't want to confess to that.

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

__

I couldn't breath and now I can't move! I really couldn't move. My muscles were too tense and my body wouldn't function when I tried to make it move. That worried me. I began to feel light-headed. The ground appeared to shift and the illusion made me tip over. Eventually, my vision was rimmed with darkness and it spread until I was unconscious.

*****

I was groggy when I awoke, my eyelids were sticky and hard to open. I couldn't breathe. My hands curled into balls, fisting the sheets I was lying on. A bed? Well, obviously, my head was on a pillow. I arched my back and groped my hands around blindly, wildly. Then the attack passed and I was left gulping in air urgently.

When I opened my eyes, I realized I was in an unfamiliar room. There was a needle stuck in the bend of my arm and, in trying to sit up, I noticed two thin wires stuck to my chest. I ripped them off swiftly and gritted my teeth against the soreness that left my skin red and tingling. A sound in the room changed. Though I wasn't sure what it was; it became a single, steady hum. An annoying hum.

The door swung open moments later. Someone dressed in a full, white suit entered and I looked at them, startled and bewildered. They found the two wires I had pulled out and tried to re-stick them to my chest, but I batted their hands away. 

"Please hold still, m'am."

I snatched the wires from their hands and threw them aside again so that they dangled off of the bed.

"Go 'way," I demanded, irritated.

I felt ridiculous. I didn't know why I was doing what I was. For some reason, I didn't feel safe and they seemed threatening enough to me.

"Please, m'am. I'm Doctor Lark. I need to hook you back up to the monitor," he said.

Doctor? 

"Where am I?" I asked rudely.

"You're in the hospital, in Quarantine."

The doctor finally reattached the wires and the droning sound went away, replaced by a soft beeping; it was even more annoying. I tried to ask the doctor – what was her name? – why I was here, but I was still drowsy. I had never been sick before. Was this what it was like? 

I grunted at the doctor as he walked over to my side, opened my eyes, grabbed his wrist, and then closed my lids again. It took me too long to feel like talking. Eventually, I forced myself to talk because I wasn't so weak that I couldn't do it. 

"Why?" I asked. I sounded like I had a wad of phlegm caught in my throat, which I did. 

"You've contracted a virus, m'am," he said, professionally but trying to act sympathetic, "It's effecting your arteries and even the fine veins in your lungs in a way that we've never seen before, so we have to keep you in here until we're certain it's not contagious."

A virus? Arteries and lungs? I wasn't worried; it didn't sound that awful and I was in a hospital anyway, so I could be cured and sent on my way. I waited for the doctor to ask me if I knew where I'd gotten the virus from, but he didn't. That was a bit discouraging because I had wanted to tell him I had been in space. He left and, eventually, I fell asleep.

*****

  
When I awoke again, there were two, suited in the same kind of outfit the doctor had been in. I didn't recognize who it was until they told me: my parents. 

"How are you feeling?" Mama asked, pushing my bangs out of my face. 

"Just great," I mumbled.

"Here," said Papa, "open your mouth and eat this."

My eyes were open, but they were heavy, and I saw something held between his fingers. I didn't open my mouth at first since I didn't know what it was. But when it was right at my lips, I finally saw the senzu bean. I opened my mouth then, chewed it, swallowed it and waited. Nothing extraordinary happened. I wasn't miraculously cured. I still felt weak, though I would have liked to trick myself into believing that I felt better. Why didn't the senzu bean work? 

Papa picked my hand up off the bed and enclosed it between his own two; my mother went back to fiddling with my hair. They stayed with me until I slipped back into slumber.

***** 

I couldn't breathe again. Why didn't they give me any oxygen? I clawed at the bed sheets and I couldn't stay still. I arched my back and thrashed about on the bed. It hurt to move like that. My insides felt like they were stretching on an outdated torture device. Kami it hurt! I wanted to scream, but I couldn't make any sound.

I had my eyes squeezed shut and when scattered images began randomly racing across my mind, I got worried. I didn't know why they were there; I didn't want them. But even when I tried to shun them, they continued their onslaught.

The day Mama and Papa took me over to Capsule Corp. for a reunion when I was four. It was odd to think that I had once been so small that I only came up to Vegeta's knee.

The first Boudakai I went to. I was so full of energy and happy that day. Yeah, I was definitely Hercule's granddaughter.

Grandpa Hercule. He always smelled funny, but I never told him that. I liked him. He was never afraid to let me see him drink or hear him cuss – Ha! Must've picked up all those swear words from him. Thank you, grandpa.

I kicked at the bed and pounded my fists on it. I felt weak. This wasn't right! Breathe, damnit let me breathe!

When I launched myself into space. I just wanted to prove that I wasn't the kid everyone thought I was. I found the button that would make it take off and I waited for Goku and Trunks to see me, then I smacked it.

That stupid robot that swallowed the Black Star ball we were after – I despised that pesky little thing. I shook it until I was sure its synthetic limbs would detach. It wouldn't give up the ball, so we had to bring that stupid thing along.

The white nothingness finally engulfed me and suddenly I became worried – had I been such a bad person that I would go to Hell? 

One of the planets we landed on, the one garnished with smooth, placid skyscrapers and such obviously advanced technology. They were so far ahead of Earth. We never noticed anything from that planet board our ship.

Bebe assumed control of Vegeta's body, finding a host that suited him and his power-quest. The destruction he caused in the body of the Saiyan Prince was probably why I was so cautious of him. I vowed not to be anymore.

I never could get the better of Piccolo. Damn him. But he made me stronger and I just hadn't noticed it before – maybe he wasn't as bad as I thought. No, he _was_ as bad as I thought.

I felt dizzy and light-headed. I didn't want to be alone. Where were my parents? Tears leaked out of my eyes and everything was turning white rather than black. That was wrong and it frightened me. I could feel the sheets tearing underneath me, I still had some strength left. The whiteness encroached on me and I kicked frantically – the bed collapsed and I slid forward. My muscles tensed and I couldn't stop my fall. I braced myself for the pain as my face smashed into the hard floor. 

The End

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Author's Note – Sorry this is late. Heh. Didn't have the weekend like I planned. Anyway. I'm gonna start working on the Piccolo story soon. So hopefully that will be here on time. ;)

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Planned Update – 2/17/03


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